A/N - Well, I suppose if I was ever going to write for Game of Thrones it would be something related to these two... I've loved Jaime and Brienne and their building relationship since season three, and while I was delighted with the first half of the final season, I'm still in denial about how everything ended. I would have loved to see more of their relationship as a couple before everything fell apart in Episode Four, hence me writing this as a means of coping!

I hope you enjoy this story and any feedback is appreciated!

Jaime cannot sleep.

This is not due to a lack of comfort. The North carries with it a chill that seems to permanently reside within his bones, but the crackling fire has warmed him admirably and the refuge of Brienne's arms has chased the ice away. His skin is still sticky and slick with sweat, but he has little desire to abandon his haven to wash up, and given how his legs are entangled with Brienne's, he cannot move without rousing her. He is too content to move anyway, their earlier activities having left him sated. No doubt if he tried to get up now, he would find his limbs possessing the consistency of water, with humiliating results.

His lack of sleep is not due to a lack of exhaustion either. The battle against the dead was won barely days ago and his body still aches with fatigue in the aftermath. Some of the residual tension has eased, if only a little, though all it takes is the recollection of Brienne's screams and the image of an undead horde threatening to overpower her to send his heart racing again. He had come so close to losing her that night. He had come close to joining the enemy's ranks himself once or twice, only to be saved at the last second by Oathkeeper's bite.

It would not have been a bad way to die, Jaime thinks. For so long he has expected to die without honour in the eyes of those around him; labelled only as the 'Kingslayer' until the bitter end. Falling in battle to save the living and protect the innocent would have been an honourable way to leave this world.

Dying to save Brienne – perhaps taking a blade intended for her – would have been even better.

Such thoughts are meaningless now. The battle is done and he has emerged with his life; his blackened heart free to beat within his chest for yet another day. And he is grateful for that, truly. While spending his final hours bestowing a knighthood upon Brienne and fighting by her side would hardly have been terrible, it would have denied him these precious stolen moments in the aftermath.

Caught against dancing firelight, Brienne is truly beautiful. No doubt she would recoil in disbelief if he were to tell her so, though he recalls the words slipping from his tongue easily only hours ago. No doubt there are a great many men in the world who would deny her beauty, his spiteful past-self included.

As golden light bathes her sleeping form, however, Jaime feels utterly content as his eyes roam over her parted lips and strong cheekbones, the latter made more striking by flickering shadows. The calm of sleep has shed years from her face, easing the deep creases which arise whenever she's caught in the throes of concern or suspicion; a sight Jaime has grown accustomed to, with some regret.

Her usually neat hair has become wild in the aftermath of their activities, and Jaime brushes a stray curl back from her forehead before letting his hand glide over her neck, tracing along the white scar carved by the bear all those years ago. The furs have been wrapped tightly around her chest, hiding her nakedness from view, but Jaime hardly minds. He simply lets his fingers roam over her broad shoulder, following the line of her arm to the calloused hand resting against his waist.

The fact that she's alive and here with him is a miracle, one which lightens a heart that doesn't deserve to be lightened. He could spend an eternity looking at her, listening to her soft breaths. All that is missing are her eyes, blue as sapphires, and unimaginably kind in a world that would fight to rob that kindness from her.

Jaime cannot help but feel he doesn't belong here. He is not worthy of sharing her bed, when she is so honourable and kind and good. A true knight if ever there was one. She always has been, long before Jaime uttered the words to make it so. At the back of his mind, he can almost hear Cersei trying to lure him away, her claws encircling his heart, threatening to pierce the flesh and tear him to shreds. There is a small part of him that still loves her, no matter how much he wishes he could smother it, and yet all reminders of his hateful sister are washed away by the mere sight of Brienne lying by his side.

Perhaps that is why he cannot sleep. Why should he, when the peace he seeks is right before his eyes?

Despite his efforts to avoid rousing her, it doesn't take long for the tell-tale signs of wakefulness to disturb Brienne's restful features. Guilt tugs at Jaime's heart at the sight. He may not know what roused her, but he can ascertain that it was his fault. He remains silent as her brows furrow and lips pull into a frown, though when her eyes crawl open it feels like a reward he has yet to earn. Two sapphires greet him, the light of the fire flickering in their depths, rendering them even more striking than usual. The mere sight of them is enough to elicit a smile, even as Brienne's frown refuses to soften.

"What are you staring at?" she asks, voice muffled in her barely-awake state, and she eases her head against the pillow as though to lull herself back into a pleasant dream.

"You," Jaime responds, his smile growing warmer in spite of her annoyance. "It's rather a pleasant sight."

She scoffs at that, though any irritation is mercifully fleeting. Jaime wonders if she will ever truly believe she possesses any beauty at all. He could stare at her adoringly for the rest of his days and she likely wouldn't believe him. After all, if the fiery wildling's doe-eyed affections have left her unmoved, it's likely nothing will ever convince her that she is a creature worthy of desire. Fury coils in his gut as he recalls every man who ever mocked her, alongside a healthy dose of self-loathing for the fact that he has been that man on several occasions.

"Ser-" she starts, and the formality of the title has him wincing.

"Jaime," he reminds her before she can continue. It is far from the first time he's asked this of her, though it would seem habit is a difficult mistress to kill. "Only Jaime."

There's a moment where it seems like Brienne is going to press on regardless of his interruption. It passes quickly, however, and her lips press together in a thin line as her eyes soften, rendering him vulnerable under her gaze. A ludicrous sensation, certainly. He may be naked beside her and trapped in her warm embrace, but he can think of no safer place to be than in the arms of Ser Brienne of Tarth.

There is nowhere on Westeros or Essos or anywhere else in the known world that he'd rather be.

"I was thinking we should never leave this room," he suggests, letting the warmth and comfort of the furs wash over him as he ignores the fatigue in his bones. One could almost forget that they are still in the frozen North. The inescapable chill seems only a distant memory now. "Let us stay here while the Starks and Targaryens fight their wars."

The suggestion is so sweet when spoken aloud that Jaime almost wishes it were possible. He neglects to mention the role of his own House in those bitter wars – the more time he spends forgetting, the better – but after the constant fighting of recent years, he thinks he would willingly trade it in for endless peace in the arms of the woman he loves. Brienne seems to attribute his musings to the fantasies of an exhausted mind if her huff of laughter is any indication, though the look she gives him is unmistakably fond.

"You would get bored within a day, no doubt," she teases, a newfound boldness in her tone contrasting with the uncertainty that laced her words earlier in the evening.

"Why would I?" Jaime asks with a wicked smirk. "I'd have you. I'm sure that would leave us with plenty to get on with."

Fire rushes to her cheeks, turning them a lovely shade of pink as their earlier activities come flooding back to her. If there is any regret in her mind now that the wine's effects have passed, she mercifully makes no mention of it, though it seems to take her a moment to conclude that Jaime too lacks any shame over taking her to bed. He wonders if part of her had expected him to flee the instant sobriety took hold, and was instead surprised to find him still there upon waking. Wonders if part of her might even have preferred that, so they could cling to fragments of normality instead of confronting this massive shift in their companionship.

Though in Jaime's eyes, it doesn't feel like a shift so much as a culmination of something that's been building for years. Words may have failed him as he tried to explain his reasoning, but there is no doubt in his mind that a major reason for him venturing north was so he could return to her side.

"I never took you for the sentimental type," Brienne says with a healthy dose of scepticism, though she can't quite conceal the smile tugging at her lips.

"What can I say, I'm a changed man," Jaime admits, finding to his relief that the statement rings true. He has questioned the notion from time to time, no matter how strongly he denies the man he once was. "All thanks to you, my good Ser."

For a moment Brienne seems torn between berating him for his flippancy and glowing with pride at her new title. In the end she settles on neither, choosing instead to lean forward and capture Jaime's lips in a sweet kiss.

It turns out that for someone with so little experience, Brienne is a quick learner. Their earlier attempts had been clumsy if enthusiastic, helped in no small part by the wine clouding their judgements, but she had been keen to learn and he had been eager to guide her. Those first few minutes of them standing half-naked by the fire had been exhausting – their frantic kissing becoming something more akin to wrestling – but after stumbling towards the bed, the night had taken on a considerably gentler turn. Jaime had only desired to please her after dreaming about her for so long, and he felt a sweet thrill shoot through his heart every time she moaned for more of his touch.

Brienne has learned to take the lead, and Jaime is willing to let her. He closes his eyes and sighs as her hand cups his cheek, feeling his heart race as her tongue lightly teases his lips but never presses further. Their kiss ends far too quickly, but he resists the urge to protest like a child when she pulls away. In place of her lips, her hand rises to grace his forehead, easing tension buried in taut muscles in order to lull him into a sense of peace.

"Sleep, Jaime,"she says, with an authority that would make him a fool to refuse her. "This room and everything in it will still be here when you wake."

"Even you?" he asks, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. Brienne has her duties guarding the Lady of Winterfell after all, and he doubts she would willingly set honour aside just to keep him company for a few extra hours. Much as he wishes their world could shrink down to the haven of these four walls, life outside will keep on spinning whether he likes it or not.

Duty will tear Brienne from his arms before long, no doubt.

"Even me," she promises, and though Jaime knows morning will bring reality crashing down upon them, the prospect of waking in her arms is so sweet he thinks he could face anything the world throws his way.

Brienne's instruction only serves to remind his battered body of how exhausted it truly is. His eyes feel uncomfortably heavy and his joints ache with fatigue, and he lingers just long enough to catch one last glimpse of the light dancing in Brienne's eyes before letting his own slip shut. The arm wrapped around his waist pulls him closer, a gentle hand tracing circles across his back, and the comfort is so foreign he almost wishes he could resist the pull of rest to enjoy it for a little longer.

No such luck. Sleep comes for him before long, tearing him away from Brienne's arms. The echoes of her presence linger, however; so much so that his dreams elicit only contentment, and the reminder of being warm and safe and loved.